Life — August 11, 1927 — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

YOUR PATHER USUALLY RETIRES MUCH EARLIER, She: yes, 17's TOO BAD 1 BROKE THE STRINGS ON MY UKULELE Early by train to the city to join’ Marge Boothby, and then off in great haste to Stamford to see Ruthic Roberts married, marvelling at life’s ironical July 19th exigencies which compelled me, with a wardrobe stocked with and costly raiment, to be wearing my old black chiffon voile to the weddin of one of my closest friends, and in new my excitement I did manage to rip one fold loose on a train doorknob ind to get myself smeared white paint in three spicuous spots, so that TP arrived at the magistrate’s looking something like Barbara Frietehie, nor did [help much by bawling loudly through- out the ceremony, but Lord ! the mar- riage even when perfect: strangers, never me a-weeping. Then to Hill for a breakfast, and Ben Johnston, who lives hard by at Springdale, did tell had planted his corn on a Sunday with two or con- read over Is to set almadge service, very) merry, how he when he was in his cups, and, being had sown it, had been forced to wait un- unable to remember where he til it sprouted before he could lay out the rest of his kitchen garden, Back to town, to stop for a day or two in our abandoned flat, with Marge for company and to look after us, and we did make a fine dinner of squab, peas and tomato going afterwards to see the Grand Street Follies, a gay and intel- nt harlequinade with one of the most amusing lyrics in it that ever I heard in my life about the struggle a child must make to be innoc e days. Home to raid the i nd mix up a gin rickey sh and girlish a spirit’ as our intelligence would permit us to as- sume, and so to bed, reading in Mr. ispie, of Gents’ Furnishings: HERE, JONNSON, WHAT DO YOU ME BY PUTTING UP A SIGN LIKE THIS? S-O-C-K-8 ISN'T THE WAY TO SPELL SOx. Manager Crosby's new book about Skippy, whose current prayer is, “Oh, Lord, give me the strength to brush my tecth every night, and if Thou canst not give me that strength, then give me strength not to worry about it.” July ibe first extremely oth peat and of no account, Dut one envelope which had been misdirected to a num- ber the street was largely written in blue pencil, “Not known here,” and for some reason I did feel affronted by the conspicuous and nonchalant especial since it was nought but a circular on the cooking-in-apartment-hotels situ- ation, a splendid thing to send a woman who' is afraid even to light Reading the journals over our breakfast, and Marge, glimpsing the picture of a woman who was trying to dodge the camera y placing her palm over her f aid that in a similar situation » would be concerned with hiding her hips. To luncheon at a publick with Bert Crosley, and he did tell us how Lem Atwood went such a pace in Havana last winter that half the time he knew not where he was, and would ticket agents, ete., in French, and that it was a miracle that the con- stabulary did not arrest him on sight wherever he went. Lord! I cannot see what pleasure pertains to Such inebriety, and am reminded again of Marian Cox’s statement that man is the only animal who makes love at all and drinks when he is not thirsty. Whilst we were at des- sert, I had the to sneeze suddenly and break my string of pearls, some of which fell into. my pineapple sherbet and had to be ex- tricated with a melon prong, to the great excitement of the waiters, so to a jeweller to leave them to be re- strung, hoping that he would gasp upon secing them and tell me they were the apoleon Josephine, or some such tale always circulating in this town, but he did not. Then home, and there was a long-distance call in from Sam, and when the connection was made, I could think of nought to say to him, and it did seem a piece of folly to lay out a dollar or two that Sam might ask me a question to which by this time he should be reasonably convinced of the answer. post across across statement, in a gas stove. mor address waiters, misfortune ones gave as is merely Baird Leonard. comicbooks. Bn com